by Elizabeth Edelglass
We play the Who Did You Tell Today game at dinner, me and my husband, my doctor husband, our son’s father, who could have known, who should have known. The C-word, our parents used to call it. Did you say the C-word out loud today? Who did you tell?
Last week I had to tell my cleaning lady, who wondered why I was still slouching about in pajamas at noon. I didn’t want her to think it was me, something wrong with me. My cleaning lady, who knows more about me than anyone, maybe more than my husband, who should know.
Today I told my beautician, who noticed some hair loss up top, although could that happen so fast? Empathetic hair loss? For my son, my grown son, who was balding anyway, only faster now. And the travel agent, I told the travel agent, a woman, who is not bald, who called to discuss our trip to Yellowstone, our supposed trip to Yellowstone, our once-upon-a-time-thought-we-were-going-to-Yellowstone-this-summer trip. I had to tell her, to justify hanging up on her.
He told the rabbi (not our rabbi) who came in today for a rash in his crotch (the hell with patient privacy, apparently, both our son’s and the rabbi’s). Did the man have his pants down when he told? And a couple of women, still blondes ever since our sons were in pre-school together, our healthy sons. They came in as a pair, hoping for a twofer on Botox.
Too bad they weren’t nuns. A rabbi and two nuns would definitely win. If this game could have a winner.
